hold my hand (it's a long way down)
by ASongInMyHead
Summary: Six months after Sevastopol, Ripley and Samuels desperately hope that they've found a sanctuary. They have not.


The false sunlight that blazed through the window of the bar was slowly beginning to drive Amanda out of her mind. She'd moved to various seats in the pub, but the light seemed to chase her, glaring into her eyes, and pulsing heat onto her head. It was pointless; but many businesses on the station had installed a program into their windows and mirrors that projected what the time of day might be like, had they not have been in deep space. It would have been completely manageable, had the program not also included the actual heat of a sun through a window. Amanda rubbed her fingertips into her scalp. It was late afternoon, and the little establishment's booths were beginning to fill with patrons looking for an after-work drink. Amanda watched them talk and laugh and drink, and tried to ignore the little prickles of envy that crawled up her spine. Imagine, being so carefree.

Hyperion Station was a tiny hunk of metal owned not by Weyland-Yutani, but by Spectrum, a company so small that they were hardly a competitor. It was the second home that she and Samuels had made since the horrific events on Sevastopol Station.

"What about Earth?" Samuels had originally suggested while they drifted aimlessly in the Torrens. They had both crept about the ship hesitantly those first few days: half-fearing a reappearance of the creature— although they had expelled it— and half-hoping Verlaine and Connor would creep out from some clever hiding place.

"It's too obvious," Amanda had countered. Not only the birthplace of human life, but also the planet where Samuels was built, and so close to her own home planet of Luna.

"But easy to lose oneself in," he pointed out. And so they had spent a month in a little Italian suburb. They had only just traded a motel for an apartment when two Weyland-Yutani agents kicked down their door. They had barely escaped with their lives, and had left three men half-dead on the cheap plastic floors. But then, far, far away from Earth, they had been without such an encounter for nearly five months.

Amanda took a tiny sip of her pint. The bartender, a small woman with red hair, had been glaring at her for a while, and this action seemed to set her off.

"Are you getting another one?" The woman snapped. "You've been sitting there for more than an hour."

Amanda looked around. The bar was occupied, but she certainly wasn't taking up any sought after space. "I'm waiting for my friend."

The bartender rolled her eyes, and stalked away to serve one of the booths.

"This is warm and flat, anyway," Amanda mumbled under her breath, dinging the edge of the glass with her fingernail. She looked at the double-faces of her watch and sighed.

Samuels was an hour late.

That was not unusual. The first few times that it had happened, Amanda had panicked, a natural reaction, as she had already nearly lost him once. The cause, this time, was much simpler. His new job was a terrible blow to his self esteem: he was working as a receptionist at a dental hygienist's office. Amanda was sure there were jobs more worthy of his brilliant brain, but synthetic prejudice was impossible to escape, no matter the solar system. The mundane job often kept him pinned to his desk long after his scheduled shift had ended.

She reached up and scratched her scalp again, trying to make the casual gesture appear effortless. It was a difficult task, especially as the hair was as fake as the ID in the pocket of her pants. The wig was a pain in her ass, just like her false name. But Weyland-Yutani was searching the galaxy for dark-haired, bare-faced Amanda Ripley, and not for blonde Ellen Daniels, who had a penchant for pink lipstick. Amanda Ripley worked contract jobs on ships and hangers, Ellen Daniels sold cashmere sweaters to middle-aged women and only rarely forgot to smile. Amanda knew it was a dangerous name choice— both names could be traced back to her family, but she had once heard that aliases were most believable when they meant something to the person using them. It was stupid to borrow names from her mother and grandmother, but she was so accomplished in clinging to the past, and so very bad at letting it go.

"Ellen," Amanda turned at the sound of her false name, as Samuels finally arrived. He smiled and squeezed her shoulder as he slid onto the stool beside her. His grip was firm and warm through the fabric of her shirt, and she forgot her annoyance at the artificial sun. His face was a familiar comfort, even with his dyed-black hair. Amanda raised a hand toward the bartender, who sulkily poured Samuels the same brand of beer that Amanda had without asking him what he'd like. Samuels accepted the drink with a friendly smile and slid over his payment, just the same.

"You're late, Adam," Amanda said lightly, addressing him by his fake name. "A long day?"

"A wasted day," Samuels replied with a humourless smile.

Amanda's eyes flickered to his face, and her lips parted with the weight of unspoken words. They still had so many questions to answer, so many riddles to solve: What would they do next? How were they to live their lives? What did they mean to each other? How would they survive?

Samuels looked away first, and they fell silent. A television perched on one of the shelves displayed a news anchor sitting solemnly as images of a watery, grey planet flashed beside her.

"Fiorina 161, a planet that operates entirely as a correctional facility, is facing budget cuts after the lead smelting works on the premises was declared 'non-essential'," the anchor's bottle-blonde perm trembled with every word she spoke. "Although the site remains open, it is unknown how long such the operation will realistically be able to run."

"No one knows where that is, you know," Samuels gestured to the screen with his glass.

Amanda frowned. "What do you mean?"

"The coordinates of the planet are unlisted. It's somewhere in the Neroid sector, but the Company won't release where."

"Why not?"

Samuels quirked his lip. "Security."

Amanda took a sip of her drink. It seemed to her that it should be impossible for Weyland-Yutani to extend their reach to encompass every part of the galaxy, and yet it was omnipresent. "I wonder what they'll do with it."

The silence that had first been nearly awkward melted into something more companionable. They were soothed by each other's companionship after a day a apart. Samuels sipped his drink, and Amanda couldn't help but look again. His throat moved as he swallowed, allowing the drink to be dissolved in the fluids in his artificial digestive system. She sipped her drink before he caught her, feeling absurdly young.

"Six months after the tragedy that left hundreds of people dead, authorities are still investigating what exactly caused Sevastopol Station to fall into the gas giant that it orbited."

Amanda slammed her glass onto the bar and looked back at the screen. The image had switched to Sevastopol in its former near-glory, lit brightly by KG-348.

"Representatives of Seegson and Weyland-Yutani maintain that the tragedy was an unexpected freak accident that was unpreventable as soon as it began."

"Bullshit," Amanda hissed. Samuels leaned forward towards the screen and clenched his jaw.

The images behind the anchor had switched to that of a large Earthen forest fire. There was no new story on Sevastopol, and so no reason to give it more than a brief mention.

Amanda counted to stare at the screen, long after the story finished. There were so many people who had lost their lives because of Weyland-Yutani's greed. So many people whose lives had been dishonoured by the very people who killed them. Her mother. Her crew. All those people she had met on Sevastopol, all those names she had learned, all those names she never learned.

"Ripley," Samuels whispered in her ear. The sound of her real name jolted her from her reverie, and she looked at Samuels half-dazed. "Amanda."

"Sorry," she said slowly. "I—"

"No," he interrupted. "We have to go."

Amanda was instantly grounded by the urgency of his tone. She looked over at the end of the bar, where Samuels was staring so intently. The bartender was speaking urgently into a telephone by the cash register, shooting quick glances over at them.

"Fuck," Amanda jumped away from her barstool and grabbed Samuels by his shirtsleeve.

"Did she recognize us?" Samuels processed as he stumbled away. "How did she know?"

"I don't give a shit, she must work for the Company," Amanda said as they pushed their way past the booths.

The sound of crashing glass burst behind them, followed by a deafening gunshot. The patrons around them began to scream and duck under their tables, but Amanda and Samuels broke into sprints and tore out of the room, and into the corridor.

"We need to get a gun!" Amanda shouted as they weaved through crowds of shocked people. "Why the fuck don't we have a gun?"

They continued down the hall, finally ducking into an expansive empty room. Amanda slammed the door shut with her shoulder.

"Shit," she scrambled her fingers across the door frame. "There's no lock."

"We'll stay here only for a minute," Samuels paced behind her. "We just need to get our bearings."

"On what?" Amanda asked, her weight still pressed against the door. "They knew where we were. Fuck, they've definitely been to the apartment. It's like they were watching us, and set a goddamn trap."

Samuels opened his mouth, but was cut off by an angry, pained cry from Amanda. The door burst open, and Amanda hit the wall with a loud smack. Her shoulder bounced against the metal wall, and she fell to the floor. Her wig slipped free, and her dark hair tumbled down her shoulders. Amanda pulled herself to her feet, just as the bartender entered the room, pistol cocked. Amanda looked up just as the bartender pointed the gun at Samuels' chest. Without thinking, Amanda ran at the other woman and tackled her to the ground. The woman cried out as her head hit the floor with a terrible crack.

"Give me the gun," Amanda shouted, as the woman struggled to break free. Samuels darted over and pulled the weapon from the bartender's grasp with ease. He pointed the gun at the woman's head.

"There's no point in running," the woman gasped as Amanda tightened her grip. "Do you think they'll let you walk away after what you've seen?"

"Do you think we'll let you?" Amanda said through gritted teeth, struggling to keep the woman pinned.

"What should we do with her?" Samuels asked, the gun still pointed at the woman.

Amanda hesitated. She'd been the cause of several deaths on Sevastopol, but never at such a close range. "We can't let her leave," she said firmly, ignoring the murmurs of doubt that teased at her mind. The bartender's breath was beginning to come out in short, panicked bursts. Amanda looked up at Samuels and nodded. She let go of the woman and rolled to the side but before the bartender could rise Samuels pulled the trigger, striking her directly in her temple.

The gun shot was deafening, but the silence that followed seemed to be louder. Blood pounded in Amanda's ears and poured from the bartender's head.

"Are you alright, Amanda?" Samuels reached out his hand and pulled Amanda— gulping for air— back to her feet.

"Yes," she said breathing heavily. Her body would ache from hitting the wall and subduing the thrashing woman, but she couldn't feel it through the adrenaline that seemed to crackle in her bloodstream. A warm wetness was spreading down her chin and she wiped her face against her sleeve. Red stained the grey fabric: she must have been hit in the fray, her nose was bleeding. She pointed at the gun. "Are you?"

"Yes," he said, too. "But I'm sorry that it came to that. I've never killed… even hurt a human before."

He had not, Amanda realized, looked away from the body. "Hey. Give me that." She gently pulled the gun from his hand. With her free hand she tilted his face towards her own. She was a little taller, and his eyes softened as he looked up at her.

"You did what you had to," she reassured him. "We would have died in that bar if you hadn't realized what was happening."

"Thank you," he said, warmth creeping back into his voice. Amanda leaned forward and rested her forehead against his. Their noses brushed and Amanda was acutely aware of how easy it would be to press her lips against his. But practicality won her over, and she pulled away.

"We need to get away from here," Amanda instructed. "She called for backup."

"Where should we go?" Samuels asked, his eyes flickering from her lips to her eyes.

"I don't know," Amanda gripped the gun in her hand firmly. "We'll figure that out once we're off this fucking station. We'll get to a terminal, get in the first shuttle and figure everything else out on the way."

Samuels looked at the body once more, and then back at Amanda. "Alright. Do you… should I get your wig?"

"Leave it," Amanda decided. "It didn't do anything for us."

She headed towards the door, but stopped when Samuels touched her wrist. "Really, Amanda. Thank you," he said, his eyes staring intently into her own.

Amanda shook her head, but twined her fingers into his own. "This is how it's going to be, Christopher. It's going to be hard. But we're going to have each other."

She was rewarded with a small smile. "I'm not used to that… having someone."

Amanda holstered the gun in her belt and pulled Samuels back into a run. They pushed their way past the people that were beginning to gather around the hall as if they weren't even there. "Neither am I. We can learn together. But right now, we have to run."


End file.
